Game of Shadows
by AlSmash
Summary: Book Two of the Ice and Fire Trilogy: Lelouch and Kallen have won their war - but all it has given them is a glimpse of the secrets that lie behind the whole of human history. This world is not what anyone believes it to be, and to survive in this game of shadows, they must do more than simply learn the rules: they must understand who they are playing against.
1. Everything Begins So It Can End

**Well, this is a happy little accident. Originally, this was not slated to be released for at least a month as I didn't have a lot of it written, and just felt like I should take a break from the Ice and Fire Trilogy. Alas, like a politician, I break my previous word, woe is me.**

 **Now, before anyone gets confused, Lelouch and Kallen will be in the next chapter.**

 **This prologue serves a lot more, much of which I cannot get into detail on without giving away almost everything. All I will ask is that you please bear with me, and you will hopefully be suitably rewarded at the end. In Ice and Fire, the pre-chapter quotes revolved around the lives of Lelouch and Kallen. In Game of Shadows, they won't. Whether that makes them any less truthful, well, that's up to you to decide.  
**

 **But enough of that, let's get to the story.**

 **Prologue**

 _ **Everything Begins So It Can End**_

 _?_

Nights didn't come much darker, Lilith brt zwg Geis [1] mused as she stood gazing up at the cloud-choked, stormy sky. There were neither stars nor a moon that shone through those clouds, and although it was summer, there seemed to be a bitter chill in the air that seemed to mock the season itself. It was the sort of weather that no one found comfort in.

Yet, for her, it was the perfect time in which she could escape the duties that ultimately came with her position as the Voice of Geis, duties that had consumed the entirety of her life since she had been identified as the next Voice by her predecessor.

For the last three hundred years, she had been The Voice, the most powerful of the people who could commune with the _Aose Sír_ [2], the collective memory of their race. From the _Aose Sír_ , she could confer with those who had come before, reaching back to the _very beginning_ , gaining wisdom, but also tap into the greatest of their race in order to lead them forward.

It was both an honor and a duty, one that consumed her every moment, as she served as the spiritual and political leader, but also its guardian. And it had been a task that she had served with her heart and essence, sacrificing everything in order to serve as the very mother of her race.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes, sensing every single person who could commune with the _Aose Sír,_ knowing where they were, and what they may be doing if she so desired, though in the broadest of sense. It brought her a sense of happiness to feel the very _life_ of her people, the energy and effusiveness of it all, an intoxicating feeling that only drove her to serve with even more diligence.

The distant sound of thunder drew her attention, as she turned to look, past the fuchsia and orchid pillar that reached towards the heavens, and to the sight of distance lightning arcing in the clouds.

In a way, the weather reflected the coming storm, a storm that she had yet to solve even through communing with the _Aose Sír_.

Her people were dying.

When she had ascended to become the Voice, it had been beneath notice, but in the nearly ten generations that had passed in her stewardship, it had become increasingly evident as what had been merely a scientific curiosity had evolved into a societal chasm.

Her people had been given a gift that not only allowed them to commune with the _Aose Sír_ , but were able to use their own inherent energies to shape and manipulate the world around them. This essence, critical for the continuance of their commune with the _Aose Sír_ , also was the lifeblood for their civilization. Without it, they would be set adrift, rudderless, and reduced to scraping by for an existence.

And with each generation that had passed during her period as the voice of her people, those that were bereft of that gift had become something that could no longer be ignored. In fact, it had not been ignored for the last five generations, as it had been decreed then, over her protests, that those who did not have their gift, would be cast out of their society, in the hopes that it would solve the problem.

It had not.

There were times, in the darkest of moments as she had tried to lead her people, and fought against this insidious disease, that she wondered why Lucifer had chosen her as his successor. She had been powerful, yes, but she also had been an outsider looking in, her family serving only a minor role within their society. Even with the wisdom she had gained in her communes, it wasn't enough to deal with something that some were whispering was the 'Will of the _Aose Sír_ ", despite her attestations that it wasn't.

" _Lady Lilith."_

She turned just in time to see the owner of the voice coalesce behind her in a flurry of cherry-blossom-pink energy.

"Desemah," she greeted the young woman. Desemah had been been selected by Idrana to be her successor almost a year ago, the woman reaching the end of her time as one of the twelve members of the very council that ruled over their society.

"Idrana requests your presence," the black and pink haired woman stated, bowing her head in reverence, "immediately."

Her lips curved downward. Idrana requesting anyone's immediate presence was a source of concern, as she rarely did so. But as the aspect of justice, if there was something that required her presence, then it was something that was outside of the purview of her role, or it was...more.

"Thank you, Desemah, I shall be there momentarily."

"Of course, Lady Lilith," with another bow of the head, she merely broke apart again, dispersing into the air as motes of light and faded away.

Lilith noted with approval at the diligence that Desemah performed her duties. Idrana had chosen her successor well. Desemah was young, but she had already acquired a sharp wit and infectious eagerness that reminded of herself when Lucifer had chosen her. It would do her well though to learn a bit of restraint. Perhaps she should offer her some guidance.

It was something she would meditate upon, but for now...her eyes closed as she sought out the unique link that was Idrana, finding her with a start.

 _Why was she out there?_

Now she knew why Idrana had requested her presence, as she transport herself to where Idrana was, appearing in what appeared to be a moderately furnished abode. It was better than some of the hovels she knew existed for those that did not have their gift.

Her attention then fell to Idrana, who was furiously pacing back and forth in front of a man who was on his knees in front of her, his hands bound behind his back and head bowed.

"Idrana," she greeted cautiously, taking in the scene before her, "you have requested my presence?"

"My apologies, Brt Zwg Geis," she bowed her head in deference as she used the proper title for Lilith, only increasing her worry, "normally I would not require your presence, but the matter is complicated."

She nodded her head, the only reason that Idrana would venture out into the wilderness was in the event a _haelfdrêyor_ [3] had been discovered. It seemed it was more complicated considering the man who was bound before her was one who had the gift, and she recognized as the scion of a merchant house.

Saying nothing, she instead strode forward and placed her hand upon his head, before jerking away with a gasp after only a moment, electric pink eyes radiating rage and energy as her expression turned feral.

" _Viermunste_ [4]," she hissed, her hand raising up as she summoned a pike from one of Idrana's guards and proceeded to run him through with it, channeling her rage and disgust into the attack, and the man only had a few moments to scream before his body disappeared into motes of light.

She stood there, face contorted in rage for only a moment, before she slowly recomposed herself, brushing a stray lock from her eyes while she braced herself up with the shaft of the pike.

"My apologies, Idrana," she finally stated, her voice shaking just a slight bit at what she had seen, and subsequently done, "I have overstepped my duties."

The deferential nod in reply was all that was needed between the two of them. What she had seen…

The man, Zayon, had been violating the law for fraternising with those without the gift for years, to the point that he had created a game where he would hunt female ungifted, sexually torment them, then kill them. Because the ungifted could not commune with _Aose Sir,_ there was no way she would have known, even as they died, unless she knew they had existed. Without a name, she did not have power, and the link was critical to learn that name.

However, it seemed that Zayon had been sloppy, leaving one alive, and it hadn't been until recently that he had discovered this his victim had not only survived...

She let out a shuddering breath, banishing the pike back to the disarmed guard, as she strode strode through the home, coming to another door and stopped. What laid beyond was the reason why Idrana had summoned her, instead of merely carried through her with duty.

Inhaling through her nose, and reaching out to the _Aose Sír_ for calm and clarity, she opened the door, and stepped inside, her gaze coming to rest upon a young teenager who sat upon what passed for a bed. His hands were cuffed behind him, and he was slouched over, head bowed.

By all rights, and by the law, this boy should be killed. No _haelfdrêyor_ should be left alive once encountered, for the fear that they would be able to rejoin society and spread the disease, or worse, becoming a threat to their civilization and rally those without the gift.

And yet, she allowed her senses to spread, reaching out, and touch-

She reared back, her eyes widening in shock.

 _This! No, it wasn't possible_ , she thought, before calming herself at the thought. No, she corrected herself with a sense of clarity, it was merely unheard of. But for this young _haelfdrêyor_ …

The law was the law, however, in this case…

 _A haelfdrêyor_ _may have more success than we have had in the last hundred years, especially one so gifted. He could be the bridge if we are not able to cure the disease._

The choice was hers, there was only one way she could save this boy, and that was only if she chose to train him as her successor. Yet she knew that if she did, the boy's path would be one of adversity, as his status would leave him vulnerable.

And if she chose to kill him, as the law dictated, would that doom them all? It was only a matter of one or two generations, before the tipping point would be reached, could she afford to destroy this opportunity?

 _Even the Aose Sír is silent_ , she observed, the collective memory providing no guidance for such a pivotal decision. A person with this powerful of a gift was not seen since… her.

"What is your name, boy?"

The boy looked up, light shining off streaks of lime in hair the color of raven feathers, golden orbs staring her down fearlessly, only adding to her confidence that she was about to make the right decision.

"Aedan."

* * *

 **Prologue Annotations:**

[1] Lilith brt zwg Geis: Lilith, Wife of Geis

[2] _Aose Sir:_ The Origin

[3] _Haelfdrêyor_ : Literally, Half-Blood

[4] _Viermunste_ : Vermin or Monster

* * *

 **For those of you who may have missed it in the last chapter of Ice and Fire, there is a Discord page that I have opened that I usually haunt at all waking hours with some of the others who help me on this like Magery and dw77, so if you want to chat, or just hang around and meet some new people, you can join us at discord . gg** **/ 7w9BnYH.**

Until the next chapter, which I promise, will not be for a little while, as I have a little surprise I'm cooking.


	2. Flames of Rebellion

**Let me preface this with my current plan on how I execute my chapters from now on. The goal is to keep my content to around 10K words or less per chapter in order to be able to churn out chapters faster. As a result, while things may not get done as quickly because of how much I may have to cover, it will still be there.**

 **Like, for example, this chapter focuses upon what has happened with Lelouch and Kallen. Next chapter will be the likes of Schneizel, Euphie, Nelly, and everyone else. But a lot of this is the beginning of establishment for the next series of chapters.**

 **Other than that, my hope is to get a chapter out a month from now on. As I'm back to actually maybe having a structured schedule. I just need to learn how to tell people no on using what little time I have.**

 **Anways, here is the chapter. If you'd like to discuss it in a more realtime setting, I do have a discord set up where I discuss all of my fics, or just shoot the breeze while I work or do other things.**

 **You can reach it at** **discord . gg / kDvfejn**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **Flames of Rebellion**

 _?_

 _?_

 _?_

 _It came to no surprise that her decision would cause tumult. After all, simply bringing a_ _Haelfdrêyor within the confines of their society was grounds for immediate censure, if not execution. The knowledge that it was The Voice that had done so, had only created more uproar, so much so that it had caused a break from tradition, as it had been the Council that had called for a meeting, instead of her._

 _So, it was here that she sat, listening to the clamoring of her fellow peers while she remained silent, watching between the various members, her brothers and sisters, as they argued. A thousand years ago this would not have been permitted, to show such blatant disrespect in the presence of the Aose Sír and the Voice was viewed as disgraceful._

 _However, that had slowly eroded, both because she, much like her predecessor who had been more constrained, viewed chaos as a breeding ground for new ideas if one were to listen, and the advent of the disease that plagued their kind. Furthermore, while spirits were high, she could divine the opinions of their peers, as it was illegal to search the thoughts of members of the Council and their apprentices._

" _Enough!"_

 _The Council fell silent as heads turned to the source of the outburst, even as he rose to his feet and her eyes narrowed at the figure, burying her feelings about the man who stood across from him even as she kept her eyes upon him, electric pink meeting electric pink._

 _Zemayl struck an imposing and charismatic figure with his lean, refined features. Platinum-silver hair that was tied with a single band while leaving two bangs to frame his face. As the Aspect of Knowledge, his role was almost as important as her own, serving to record their history and her interactions with the_ _Aose Sír._

 _But more importantly, he was longest reigning member of the Council, having served for nearly six hundred years, as finding the next Aspect of Knowledge had always been difficult. His presence on the council had accrued him a level of power second-only to herself, and he had wielded it by becoming part of the more reactionary elements of the Council, several times fighting her on the direction of their society._

" _The heart of the matter of all of this, my brothers and sisters, is that Lady Lilith has taken the law in her hands. The Society shall not suffer a Haelfdrêyor. Regardless of his circumstances, or his power, the law is clear!"_

 _There were a few murmurs, Lilith's eyes scanning the circle around her. The agreement was not surprising, even with the more open members of the Council, it was one thing to urge the changing or relaxation of a law, it was quite another to simply decide to ignore and violate it._

 _Again, she was presented with a choice, one that would have implications for years to come: Either she backed down, Aedan was executed, and she would find her position further eroding as a leader, or she fought back._

 _Rising to her feet in response to the challenge that had been placed before her, she took the time to again gather her thoughts._

" _Zemayl is correct, the law is clear," she let that hang in the air for a few moments, knowing many of her peers found the admission considering the combative relationship between the two surprising, "the law of succession."_

 _The exchanged looks and murmurs, not to mention Zemayl's own shocked expression, provided more fuel for her as she strode confidently on._

" _In the four hundred years that I have been part of this august body, I have been a witness of the decline of our society as The Disease has ravaged our people, sapping our strength, and divided us. For three hundred of those years, I have led you to the best of my ability, seeking, just like many of you, a solution to our problems. Generations have come and gone, and yet The Disease still remains, eroding our beautiful society and threatening our future. The Aose Sír remains silent, unable to provide us guidance in combatting to this threat."_

" _That is why, much like my predecessor before me, in choosing a successor of controversy," she emphasised pointedly, staring straight at Zemayl, who had been a critic of the Aspect of Geis being of low birth, "I choose to continue this practice. The selection of a Haelfdrêyor, who has been granted with a Gift that may grow to eventually dwarf even more own, is done in recognition of the future if we continue upon our current path and are unable to escape this spiral into death."_

" _All of you have seen the data," she paused, letting that sink in, "We, as a society, have less than ten generations before we are unable to maintain the society our ancestors have built and left to us. It is time to begin thinking unconventionally!"_

" _That does not mean accepting that_ thing _into our ranks," snapped Raschul, the Aspect of the People, "the People will not accept it."_

" _They_ will _accept it," she declared, pinning him down with a glare, eyes blazing, "for that is_ OUR LAW _!"_

 _Controlling her irritation with a breath, and a little help from the Aose Sír, she continued, "Many of you have confided in me the fear that we are running out of options, that maybe there isn't_ any _solution to The Disease. Yet, we have an untapped source of knowledge and worldview that we choose to ignore, that is outside of the Aose Sír. The only thing that prevents us from being able to access that is that we have cast them out of our Society in our fear and hatred, and have hunted them for generations! Yet, despite our actions, they thrive, separate from us, to where they now outnumber us, and continue to grow while we decline! I have sat in this august body silently, wishing for us to acknowledge that_ we are running out of time _and that our brothers and sisters who have been deprived of The Gift, may just be the source of our salvation!"_

 _Her gaze then fell to Zemayl, who had taken a seat, his hands folded upon the polished surface, expecting a fight. Instead, she was met with silence, and a small grudging nod of acknowledgement of the facts. As the Aspect of Knowledge, he had access to the raw knowledge that pointed to so much of their plight._

" _While I agree with your sentiment, Lilith," he began, "there is a distinction between reaching out to our wayward brethren, and accepting a Haelfdrêyor as the Aspect of Geis, our most holy of roles."_

" _I agree with you, Zemayl. However, you know that we are upon a precipice where audacity may be our only salvation."_

 _It was an appeal to him, knowing that his voice and opinion would either result in her going on her own, or they work together. While they may be ideologically opposed, they both shared a love for and duty to their people, and they both knew that they were running out of options and time._

" _Very well, Lilith. The Haelfdrêyor may remain and be trained. By the both of us."_

 _Her jaw nearly dropped in surprise, even as several others were murmuring their own shock, looking between the two._

" _That...is very gracious of you, Zemayl," as well as unprecedented, as it was viewed that while knowledge may be exchanged between the Aspects, training was the sole responsibility of the Aspect, "May I inquire as to your motivation?"_

" _You are right in that we must begin to think laterally. And while I disapprove at the notion of a Haelfdrêyor serving as the Aspect of Geis, before society banished those without The Gift, there had been Aspects who were Haelfdrêyor."_

 _She hadn't been aware of that! Why would the_ _Aose Sír refrain from sharing such information with her upon the matter? Was she losing her connection, or was it something else? She would need to meditate upon this._

" _If this_ _Haelfdrêyor is as gifted as you seem to make him, then he will need every advantage available to him. His blood aside, if he is to serve our society, he must both be educated in our ways, but also privy to knowledge of what we face. I only hope that your faith in this individual is not misplaced."_

 _She nodded her head in acknowledgement, her own hope reflecting the last statement._

" _Are there any more objections?"_

 _The silence in the face of the two most powerful blocs agreeing upon something was telling. Then again, the matter of succession had largely been a private matter to begin with. Once the primary obstacle had been removed, it was merely a matter of protocol._

" _Very well then. This Council is adjourned."_

* * *

 _ **GoS**_

* * *

 _Donetsk, Former Ukraine_

 _August 11th, 2018 a.t.b._

 _How could everything had gone so wrong?!_

That was the thought of Colonel Viktor Chernenkov as he stared at his knightmare's tactical display, a chill running up his spine as icon after icon blinked out, being replaced by a simple word, "LOST". A word that described his own feelings as he tried to to figure out how they had come to this point.

Five months ago, the former Republic of Ukraine had been deemed pacified when Field Marshall vi Britannia's military campaign had wiped almost every last organized military element of the EU and RoU that had existed in-country. It had been this pacified country that had been handed off to them by the Britannian Empire with the assurance that the former Ukraine would become a profitable investment in the future.

Unfortunately, it had been not a month later when _he_ appeared.

While the origins of Svarog were shrouded in mystery, much like his obvious inspiration had been until two months ago, there was little doubt to anyone that Svarog was just as damnably effective as Zero had been in Area 11. From the moment he had appeared, EuroBritannia had found itself on its back foot, as Svarog had stringed together several victories, each one only serving to further incite the local populace and grow his legend.

So when intelligence had finally pinned down the enigmatic leader's headquarters in Donetsk, Grand Marshall Manfredi had ordered General Bianchi to take the III Corps of the Order of St. Michael and crush Svarog's Order of the Wolf.

What they hadn't known until it was too late was that Donetsk had been an elaborate trap.

He still didn't know how _they_ had done it, as there had been no intelligence indicating that Svarog had received outside help beyond what pittance the EU would willingly scrape up for him, but somehow, Svarog had gained a new benefactor.

He could still hear the screams of his men. Screams that were all too quickly ended as they were cut down by an unseen enemy. He shook with horror, as one of _them_ had appeared, rivulets of energy revealing jet black armor plating, and a single red eye that seemed to burn into your soul as it judged you, finding you wanting.

It had been under that gaze that he had run, intent on escaping the hell that Donetsk had become, as no training could handle what had been seen and heard. And now, as he was reaching one of the forests outside of Donetsk, he took the time to try and listen for someone, anyone, who may be an ally, only to be met with silence.

How was it possible? How could they have been wiped out so quickly?! There had been a hundred knightmares, and almost double that in armored vehicles. Yet his scopes, even in the flurry of static that indicated ECM, showed so many LOST icons.

So intent on those icons, his mind breaking, that he never saw his killer as a blade was driven through his cockpit and through the front of his Gloucester.

* * *

 **GoS**

* * *

They were calling his name, shouting it, as if the very exultations of it would bestow upon some mystical power. As if he were Prometheus granting them fire.

Fools, all of them, the man thought as he slowly strode up the stairs leading to the roof. To be blind to the power that they wielded that they parasitically latched themselves upon others in order for them to avoid the responsibility that came with the power that every had. It disgusted him that once upon a time, he had been one of those parasites, merely looking to others to decide his destiny.

Back when he had been Vladyslav Vovk.

He strode through the opened door, his thoughts leaving the past and returning to the present, to Svarog's present. Coming to a stop on the middle of the roof, he took the time to look around him, taking in the smoke rising to the heavens from the various fires from the fight. Smoke that signified so many dead _moskal._

He idly wondered if this was how Zero felt when killing Britannians.

"An inspiring job, _tovarysh_ ," he mused aloud, sensing that he was no longer alone, "a credit to your master that it was so well done."

He didn't pay any heed to the figure that appeared out of thin air. After all, would one acknowledge an ant as it skittered beneath them? They were merely an emissary of the true queen, destined to merely serve their betters. Their existence tolerated, their names unnecessary.

"Zero is no one's master, Svarog," Kaimu bristled, "we all serve her willingly."

"So you claim," he dismissed the natterings of his lesser, instead focusing on an explosion in the distance, where it seemed that his forces had finally dealt with the enemy command base. A pity that it couldn't be taken, it would have been an excellent asset. Oh well, no use crying over spilt milk.

When Kaimu chose not to response, he tuned her out, considering the next option. Donetsk had been Zero's idea, but it had lacked a certain elegance he would have preferred. Not to mention it had barely used his forces, instead of using some of Zero's new toys, Yureis, specially designed stealth knightmares based upon the Akatsuki frame, to ambush and decimate the EuroBritannians before they knew what had hit them.

Still, it was unwise to look a gift horse in the mouth. For now, they served their purpose in cementing his legitimacy, once they were of no use, they would be discarded. It wouldn't do well to depend upon a woman after all. After all, a woman's role was to serve their betters.

And Zero had been no different, giving into her base nature, as a true woman would always flock to a strong male like a moth to a flame, offering herself to The Demon. Like a cheap whore, she had given into her enemy.

So while Zero may have been the spark, he would be the true torchbearer of rebellion once he had retaken the Ukraine and remade it in his image. An image of strength. A _**TRUE**_ empire.

"-ave enough?"

His musings was cut short as he refocused his attention upon the masked member of the Noppera-bō.

"What?"

He could feel the gaze of the eyes behind that void-like mask bearing down upon him, as the figure still stood there, her body language screaming rebellion in how relaxed it seemed.

"Have you ever heard of the saying, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, Svarog?"

Eyes narrowing behind his mask, he fought back his immediate response as such disrespect, the only thing saving this woman from his judgment was who she represented.

"Of course I have, _tovarysh_ ," he replied, "it is the reason Zero has extended her hand in friendship for this glorious taking back of my country. We share a common enemy that must be destroyed."

"What my colleague was intending to say," a voice sounded behind him, causing him to whirl around and stand there in shock at seeing—himself, "is whether you were aware that although we share the same enemy, we were merely allies of convenience."

"Wha-," his head snapped towards Kaimu, who stood there nonplussed, and back to himself, "What is this?! Who are you?!"

"I have enough," 'Svarog' stated, not responding to his demands.

"Wha-," a hand suddenly ripped his mask away, clasping over his mouth, before he felt something slip into left side of his back, then the pressure was gone and everything faded to black.

* * *

 **GoS**

* * *

Shinichiro Tamaki sighed as he lowered the body of Svarog to the ground. Caedron—as he so often was—had been right. _There's no justice,_ he thought. _There's just us._ In any other life, he'd have admired Svarog. He'd have thought the man was doing exactly what Tamaki would have wished _he_ could have done: sticking a knife into Britannia, and watching them bleed, all in service of a brighter tomorrow. But in any other life, he'd have been a fool.

 _There is no emotion. There is only the mission._

Taking the moment to collect himself by wiping off his knife on the cloak of Svarog, he then sheathed it, before standing up and walking over to the other Svarog, taking the moment to size him up.

If it wasn't for the mission, he may have had misgivings for what he was now party to, but Svarog _had_ to be taken out. The man before him had confirmed that it had been necessary from the very first moment they had met Vladyslav Vovk, the man was a twisted narcissist with megalomaniac tendencies, he just had been damned good at hiding it from others until now.

"Are you ready for this, Mao?"

'Svarog' tilted his head slightly, and only Tamaki's well-honed emotional control prevented him from reacting at the knowledge that he _knew_ the man was wearing a lazy smirk. He had spent too much of the last two months with Nix's newest little project _not_ to know.

"Do you really have to ask me that?"

"I don't know, _do I?_ "

"Of course not. I could have made the swap a week ago, Tamaki," Mao replied irritably, "in fact, I would have preferred to have done so. You aren't the one that had to sit there and be a private audience to the man's delusions and mysoginist ravings."

 _All the more reason we had to kill him_ , Tamaki thought to himself, knowing that Mao would pick up on the thoughts: the teenager had a tendency of not caring for anybody's barriers despite Nix's repeated efforts of 'instilling' restraint into him (re: enhanced behavior reinforcement aka torture). Of course, it seemed that the little psycho had grown attached to Nix's ministrations for reasons he honestly did _not_ want to know.

He had been party to the initial discussions regarding what to do with Svarog. Initially, the intention had been use the man to drive a stake into EuroBritannia's heart and have it focus its attentions drawn away from the EU. That was, until Lelouch touched base with his allies in Europa United. While they had nothing concrete, they had stated that there were worried about who Svarog was, and what was his endgame in regards to Ukraine, and to a larger extent, the region.

As a result, it had been decided, by both Prince Lelouch, and Kallen, that Kallen would approach Svarog through a series of back channel contacts that existed in the EU, offering assistance to him in order to get close and get a read of the man.

The read that they got, by slipping Mao in (while heavily leashed, as both the Prince and Zero were adamant of that), was that Svarog had to go. Not only because the man was an opportunist using what Zero represented to empower himself, but also because he was quite honestly, batshit crazy in his worldview. He was the sort of person that the Prince and Countess were trying to destroy, not assist in propelling to power.

Yet, Svarog had gained himself a legend that would make it difficult to simply depose him. But, luckily enough, like the very person he was emulating, no one actually _knew_ who was behind the mask, which allowed them to greenlight his termination.

After all, if no one knew who was behind the mask, how could they know he had been replaced?

Thus, the orders had come down to eliminate Svarog and replace him with Mao. At least, for the time being.

"Make sure you don't fuck this up, Mao," he stated bluntly, before turning to Kaimu, taking a moment to read the body language of Kasumi Arima, formerly of the Special Operations Group. He had a few interactions with the taciturn woman, knowing that she was perfect for this job, a job that once upon a time Caedron would have been doing.

A sharp pain his chest at the memory caused him to grimace, before he quickly buried it. Even now, the knowledge that Caedron was no longer among the living was a thought that was just too painful for both him, and to a greater extent, Ariadne. So much so, that their relationship was, for lack of better terminology, on ice. They both had too many responsibilities now thanks to their expanded roles.

 _In fact, I haven't seen Ariadne in a month and a half_ , he thought to himself, before dismissing it as the distraction for what it was.

"You know the plan, Kasumi," he said quietly, tilting his head slightly towards Svarog, "Zero and Prince Lelouch need a week."

"With the loss of III Corps, it'll take that long for Manfredi to get enough forces in theater to feel safe in tangling with Svarog. That would be if the plan wasn't already to go back to being mobile."

He nodded, noting with the woman's deferential tone with a pang of sadness. All of the Shadows were aware of the close relationship between himself and the "Old Man", to the point that there was an unspoken agreement that Caedron had lived a few more years, Tamaki would have been the heir, at least of the more 'personal' (re: Assassination and Infiltration) elements of the Shadows. As such, there was a respect that exceeded the normal peerage that existed towards Tamaki.

Satisfied, he strode over to where Svarog's cooling body lay, reaching into a pouch and retrieving a pair of sticks, taking the moment to crack both of them, and taking the time to pour the contents over the body, a hissing sound filling the air as the chemicals broke down the body, melting cloth, flesh, bones, and sinew equally. After only a few moments, there was nothing left to indicate that Svarog's body had been there outside of the disturbed gravel.

Collecting himself, he then looked to both Kaimu and Mao in his guise as Svarog.

"Good luck. I'll see you when I return from Sankt Petersburg."

* * *

 **GoS**

* * *

 _Mosul, Former Middle Eastern Federation_

 _Area 18_

 _August 13th, 2018 a.t.b._

There was a certain feeling of nostalgia for Asim Abdal-Malik as he quietly strode through the bustling marketplace of Mosul. From the familiar scents of his childhood wafting in the air, to the energy that seemed to permeate the place despite the change of ownership that had taken place in the last year.

But that was what it was, a nostalgic memory that couldn't take away the reason he had lived in Japan for over a decade and a half. His family had fled the Sunni-dominant Middle Eastern Federation as the Mullahs and politicians tightened their grip on power in lieu of Britannian aggression in Africa, nationalizing the industry and removing those who did not subscribe to their religious beliefs. It was only because of his father's industrial connections to Japan that his family were able to settle in the country.

And now he had returned, only this time not as Asim, but as Doyle, a member of the Noppera-bō.

Burying the nostalgia for later, he refocused his mind on why he was here, taking the time to scout the marketplace for the signs that would lead him where he needed to go.

He had to admit, that the people he was seeking were rather clever, and it was both a credit to their organization, and Britannia's inability to handle asymmetric warfare, that while the more radical terrorist elements had been wiped out because the operated in the open, this group had been largely untouched.

Satisfied that the intel matched what he was seeing, he ducked into an alley, his senses heightened, knowing that while he was not alone, it would not do well to become lazy in the pursuit of one's job. Especially when considering that preparedness was the slim barrier that generally separated life from death.

For what seemed like an interminable time, he finally arrived at where he needed to be, taking a moment to scan his surroundings, noting the attempts of some to remain hidden. An impossible task to him.

Drawing a breath, he stepped up to the door, sensing the tension ratcheting up from the men and women who were watching him, before knocking softly upon the door, the rapping like a gunshot to his ears. Then, he stepped back, awaiting the response.

As the door opened, he had to resist the naked that came from not donning his mask. To be a Shadow was to become the mask, the persona that had been carefully cultivated by their actions, not their person. It was what made them so dangerous, so effective—so terrifying. To be a Shadow was to walk with death, to be both its lover and dealer. And here, he was without that mantle.

A single middle-aged man stood there, his expression inscrutable, though his body language screamed _soldier_.

"Peace be upon you, brother," he greeted, "I was told the former Professor of Mathematical Analysis at the University of Mosul resided here."

He could _feel_ the tension ratchet up, as the man's expression hardened, yet he met the man's gaze unflinchingly, knowing that doing otherwise would invite disaster.

"The man is not here," came the gruff reply.

"My apologies then," he offered with a nod, "I was told he was here by his colleague at the University of Vienna."

The man relaxed slightly, before opening up the door, "He should, however, be back shortly. Why don't you come in."

"Thank you," he offered a small smile, just enough to reinforce he was not a threat, as the sign, countersign, and password were all exchanged. Such was the danger of being in Britannian-held territory, even if it was one of the more loosely held parts of it.

Following the man inside, he was led deeper into the building, before led into a living room, where a quartet of men and a woman were all sitting. The man that had led him walked to an older, bearded gentlemen, leaning over to him and whispering in his ear for a few moments, even as the others watched him. After a few more exchanges, the soldier stepped away, walked over to a wall, and leaned against it, while the other man slowly rose to his feet.

"Welcome, Emissary of Zero," the man greeted, holding out his hand, "I am Massoud Hawdeyani."

"Asim Abdal-Malik," he responded, taking the proffered hand and firmly shaking it, his gaze roaming the room again, noting the expressions on the others. Giving his real name went against every protocol that had been established as a member of the Shadows, but the issue was trust was a hard-won, yet extremely profitable endeavor once successful in this region. By giving his real name, he was showing his trust in these individuals that they would not violate that trust.

Massoud looked at him curiously for a moment, eyes narrowing speculatively, obviously looking for something, "You would not be related to Salaam, would you?"

"My father."

There was a few murmurs from the others, as they looked at one another, just as Massoud smiled, looking to the others.

"Truly, we have been presented with a gift. I had a few run-ins with Salaam back in the day. A good man who always looked out for the community," his smile was still there as he brought his gaze back to Asim, "How is Salaam?"

"Killed during the invasion," Asim cooly replied.

The smile faded somewhat, "I'm sorry, Asim. It was a travesty what happened. Too many people killed, jailed, or forced to flee. It should never have happened."

"Thank you," was his response, noting the genuine emotions the man was showing, "but it's something that cannot be helped. We can only work on going forward."

"Of course," Massoud's smile was back, but it wasn't the open joviality that had it been before, instead it was more eager than anything, "please, take a seat."

Taking the motioned to seat, he settled in, as Massoud moved back to his own seat.

"So," the man steepled his hands, and all joviality was gone as he peered at him calculatingly, "What is Zero's interest in Al-Sayf?"

* * *

 **GoS**

* * *

 _Bogota_

 _Area 6_

 _August 18th, 2018 a.t.b._

It was while sipping from a flute of champagne, Baron George Coggeshall allowed himself to show a crack in his business-like persona: a smirk that betrayed his amusement as he watched the Pan-American Economic Forum continue, its participants completely unaware that they were soon to become a victim of a much grander game between kings and queens.

Well, that was a bit too dramatic, he thought with a mental scoff. Yet, it didn't take away from the fact that the very people he was rubbing shoulders with were soon to depart from this world. If he were a moral man, he would be aghast at such a callous disregard for human life.

A pity for all involved that he had long since discarded such tripe beliefs.

There was no doubt in his mind, that if the truth of the events that were going to transpire in this evening, there would be loud cries for the 'innocents' that were claimed in the crossfire. However, to him, there was no such thing as innocents at this conference room as far as he was concerned, too many of the people in this room were either complicit, or at least aware of what was taking place in Areas 2 and 6, and gave their tacit approval by reaping in the benefits of it.

Callous, certainly. Pragmatically realistic, goddamn right. But that was part of being a spook for the Britannian Empire. Well, until he offed his father, but the man had been an abusive, indolent, pig anyways so...meh. Either way, through his actions, he had inherited the Barony, and had gained a history over the years as a shadowy, near-hermetic entity that offered assistance in all-manner of things. Above the board, of course.

Still, for someone like him, over the years, he became bored. Sure, he had amassed a generous wealth through his services, but he had found it uninspiring. While Information services in this day and age were a golden commodity, he would never amount to much against the big fish, so while he had his little niche cut out for himself, it just became something to _do_ , instead of enjoy.

It had been how Caedron Harrington had found him.

This time he generally smiled, finishing off the champagne and placing the glass on a passing waiter's tray.

When Harrington had become Regent for the Stadtfeld Barony, several eyebrows had been raised in both the Area, but also the mainland. In fact, he still remembered a gathering of several industry heads in Area 11, where Gedron Morgan declared that the Stadtfeld's wouldn't last a year.

It had been rather cathartic to rub in that little tidbit before forcing the old man to blow out his brains. After all, he had been one of the few people to actually bet upon Harrington and his regency, and had reaped a whirlwind from it.

But Harrington. There had been a special sort of steel in that man, the kind that you would be lucky to encounter once in a lifetime. It took that steel to navigate the shark-infested waters of Britannian noble politics. But he hadn't done just that, he had thrived, raising the Stadtfeld fortune to heights it hadn't reached before.

And then he had found Coggeshall.

While Harrington had never intimated _how_ he had discovered him, it was knowledge that had ceased interesting him over the years. The reason for this being in that Harrington had _bought_ his interest, in the form of an impossible task.

 _Break the Britannian Empire_.

When Harrington had issued that challenge to him all those years ago, he had laughed in the man's face. You just didn't _suggest_ destroying an empire that had existed in one form or another over the last two thousand years. It was the height of insanity, and he had been entertained the idea of killing Harrington when the man had raised the subject, simply because the man was regarded as one of the best. Yet, at the same time, he had found himself intrigued by the very idea because he had been _very_ bored.

Say what you will about idle hands, but it was that very boredom, combined with Harrington's natural charisma, that had led him to embrace the 'grand conspiracy'. After all, it wasn't very often you were challenged to quite possibly make history.

His decision, made in a moment of boredom, was something he had not regretted in the six years since. As a member of Caedron's inner circle, his 'Shadows' (despite the official byline that they were Zero's Shadows), he had yet to find himself bored, and instead had embraced his role as chaos-maker with a level of vicious aplomb that had taken aback Harrington.

In many ways, his title, his mask-sake, Marchosias, a Goetian Marquis of Hell, was a reflection of his soul. While Zero and Harrington handled the martial requirements of the task, his role was to enfeeble Britannia itself. A whispered word in the right ear could achieve more damage than a single knightmare squad—and the right people dying at exactly the right time could create an upheaval that could freeze an entire hemisphere.

That was why he was here. The Pan-American Economic Forum was an annual occurrence that placed various economic and industrial leaders of the former Central and South America in the same location to discuss ways to enrich themselves and to generally flaunt wealth with one another. However, the last few years had become increasingly contentious as pressure from the mainland drove the various men and women who made up the heart and soul of the economics of the two landmasses into increasingly bitter and contentious states.

It had reached critical mass in the last two months, thanks to overzealous demands by the mainland to ramp up production _again_. Central and South America were already feeling the pressure of these demands, furnishing for a war economy that kept demanding more, but they were fast approaching a critical juncture of something _had_ to give.

Adding to this flashpoint was the politics also involved in the evolving situation. There had always been a level of animus between the homeland and Areas 3 and 6, with both sides holding a special disdain between them thanks to slights, both real and imagined.

Yet, thanks to a whispered word in the right ears, it had reached a crisis point. The various leaders of Areas 3 and 6 now _believed_ that the mainland was after them. So while officially the CAEF served as its usual purpose, there was a frenetic energy as the principles of the event attempted to figure out what they _could_ do in lieu of this knowledge.

And now it was time to light the match.

He always had a penchant for the elegant and artistic, and while poison was widely considered the weapon of choice for a woman, it was his preferred means of target elimination. What made it beautiful in its estimation in that it could be _anything_. It could be subtle or it could be conspicuous, but what made it beautiful was the fear. Unless the poisoner was sloppy or incompetent, there may never be an answer to the who, the what, or the why.

Which was why the people around him were unaware that the very food and drink they were consuming were part of a binary compound that had been created by the OSI. By itself, the poison was inert, split into two separate substances that required it to be mixed in order to begin its insidious design, and then it it took time to reach its full potency (which had been explicitly timed after the forum-goers had already started for their rooms or homes), but once it did…

But the true elegance of the plan was the fact that everyone was primed and ready to point fingers at one another. Area 3 and Area 6 would be suspicious of the timing and accuse the mainland of the attack, with the intent on moving in and assuming control, while the mainland would deny it until their faces were blue. But once a little birdy chirped about how the poison was a tailor-made OSI design, well...the resultant chaos would keep Britannia busy trying to ensure that production continued.

All part of the larger plan, of course.

The only hiccup was that it was unfortunate that Harrington was no longer amongst them. Selling this operation to Zero and, by extension, Prince Lelouch, had been a chore. Both had been reticent at an operation such as this, where the collateral damage only enhanced the objective. In fact, the Countess had been horrified at the idea of such a random act, and it had taken every bit of his patience to explain _why_ it had to be done. The Prince had, unsurprisingly, been the first accept it, even if he had not exactly liked the idea.

But, in the end, they had both been able to convince Kallen, that while a monstrous act, it was necessary in order to keep the pressure upon Britannia in the shadows.

Still, it was intriguing to watch the two of them work together, and because of it, he could see what Harrington had seen. That, with experience, the two of them would likely be what was needed for a better world. In fact, he was willing to bet that he was truly looking at the future Emperor and Empress of Britannia, if everything went correctly.

But that could be saved for later. For now, he would do what was necessary, even if it was morally and inherently wrong. Because for good to flourish, there always had to be evil to make people wish for good.

* * *

 **GoS**

* * *

 _Tokyo_

 _Japan Special Administrative Zone_

 _Formerly Area 11_

 _August 21st, 2018 a.t.b._

It was only the force of impacting the ground, driving the air of the lungs, that saved Countess Kallen Stadtfeld from cursing aloud and worsening her situation. Instead, she shakily brought herself back to her knees, before leveling a weak glare at the woman who had introduced her again to the ground. Something that had become far too common in the last month and a half.

"Again," Andraste Harrington commanded, the only show of emotion allowed by the woman as she stood there with her escrima sticks.

Taking a deep breath, Kallen picked up her own sticks, and gathered her waning strength as she rose to her feet. They had been at it for the last hour and a half, and while she was _still_ getting her ass beat every single time, despite everything Caedron taught her.

Then again, she thought to herself, as she began again with Andraste, it might be in spite of it. Even now, she still bristled at the knowledge, but Andraste had outright declared that Caedron had trained her _wrong_. Though it was no fault of his own, there was only so much he could convey to a person with a different body-type than himself, and unfortunately, there were just too dissimilar, even with his attempts to teaching her. Where his body type had the strength to spare, hers did not, and as a result, there had always been something lost in the translation.

Furthermore, this _was_ her physical therapy. While the damage done by Cocytus was not as bad as the doctors had expected, there were still some lingering effects: loss of muscle memory, coordination, and instances where her muscles just didn't want to work like they should. Andraste's insane workouts were restoring what she had lost, but also served as a way for her to simply decompress from the day's events.

It wasn't much longer before she found herself flat on her back, compliments of Andraste sweeping her off her feet when she had overextended herself. Catching her breath, she allowed herself a moment to simply stare at the ceiling of her gym, before Andraste's hand dominated her view. Aquamarine met aquamarine a shade lighter, before Kallen took the offered hand and was helped up to her feet.

"Hit the shower, Kallen," Andraste stated simply. There was still a tension between the two of them two months later, despite both of their best efforts. Unsurprisingly, the issue at heart revolved around Caedron. To Andraste, Kallen was her replacement, despite any attempts to removing that misnomer.

On the other hand, the reason for her tension with Andraste was more complicated. To her, Andraste was a manifestation of all of the secrets Caedron had kept from her. But it went deeper than that, and she was willing to admit her jealousy because of the fact that to her, Andraste was a representation of her father-figure's failures.

So while they did work together, as they both wished to honor the memory of the man, there still remained that tension that may never be resolve. But for Caedron, they would keep trying.

* * *

 **GoS**

* * *

It was with a sigh of relief that she slid into the bathtub, the hot water taking away the various aches and pains that had come with her exercise and sparring. Closing her eyes she took the time to luxuriating in the heat and peacefulness, allowing her mind to truly wander: not to the various successes they had achieved, but to Lelouch.

The last two months had been frenetic, but there had still been time for the two of them to spend together, but even with her becoming his consort, there was a distance between them. It was subtle, but it was there nonetheless. That wasn't to say that there was something wrong, but there were times when Lelouch seemed distracted by something.

It was something they would need to discuss when he returned. Despite how they were working together, there needed to be no barriers.

So lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't hear her phone going off. Sloshing the water around, she pulled herself halfway out of the bathtub to look at the phone, before quickly hitting the accept call button, switching it to speakerphone.

"Lelouch," she greeted.

" _Afternoon, Kallen_ ," Lelouch's voice filled the room, " _how are you doing?_ "

"Fine. Just got done with working out."

" _And sparring with Andraste?_ "

She frowned, deciding to slip herself back into the tub, "Unfortunately."

When Lelouch chuckled, she wanted to immerse herself completely in the water as her face reddened. Despite the sore point of Andraste kicking her ass, Lelouch liked to needle her on the fact that in sparring, he currently had a small lead on her, much to her chagrin. He liked to joke that she just got her ass kicked as a preparation for him.

"How are you doing," she asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

" _Tired_ ," even though it was a simple statement, she could hear the exhaustion in his tone. For the last week, Lelouch had been in the Vermillion City working out a trade pact with China as a representative of Britannia.

While on paper this pact would benefit Britannia, it was merely one more step in Lelouch's grand plan to take the throne. While she personally did not care for the throne, it was only after several days of arguments back and forth Lelouch that she finally relented and accepted that it was the better option than destroying Britannia itself.

Still, it was just yet another responsibility that had to be managed, responsibilities and judgments that were burying the two of them.

And while Lelouch was in China, she was here working with Euphemia in administering Japan. While there was a tension between Euphemia and herself, they were still working together because it was necessary. And to be perfectly honest, despite her dislike for Euphemia (after all, the woman had tried to destroy her by going behind Lelouch's back), she could at least respect her.

That and the girl was damn good at what she did.

"How much longer do you have?"

" _A few more days. There's just a few more details we have to go over before everything's ironed out. I still have to meet with the delegates from the EU that want to ensure we're not going to screw them out of Sakuradiite production."_

"Sounds exhausting."

" _No more than any other long meeting,_ " was his response, " _just a lot more players with larger implications that you to have to pay attention to. The Empress Tianzi also extends her thanks, Xingke's treatment is going well. They think he will be fully cured and recovered by the middle of next month._ "

"That's great," and it was true. One of the things she had done with her own money was to arrange a medical team to go to China in order to treat Xingke. While Lelouch was hamstrung by expectations, she was held to no restraints, and this would only benefit them both further with a healthy and friendly Xingke advising Tianzi.

"Indeed."

She sat there, waiting to hear more from Lelouch, but when he remained silent, she realized that they really didn't have much to talk about. Then again, most of their phone calls were merely to touch base and talk about their day. In this case, it would be best to deal with what was bothering her.

"When you get back, Lelouch, I think it would be best for us to take a break. What do you think?"

There was silence on the other end, and she had to bring herself up out of the tub to look over at the phone, recognizing immediately that it was still on and they were still connected.

"Lelouch?"

"Yeah," came his response, distracted as it was, and she wondered if it was the fact that he had divined her intent, or it was something else, "That sounds good?"

"I'll hold you to it, Lelouch."

"Okay. Look, Kallen, I have to run now, I have another meeting. I'll call you tonight."

"Sounds good. I'll be expecting it. Later, Lelouch."

"Later, Kallen."

And with that, the call ended. For a moment, she stared at the phone, before gently lowering herself back in the water. Closing her eyes, she dwelled upon their conversation, mentally reviewing both what was said, and the tone in which they were said. She then discarded that line of thought, not wanting to be distracted by what may or may not be there.

It was something that could not be helped right now, so it was better not to dwell upon it until it could be dealt with.

* * *

 **GoS**

* * *

Unlike Kallen, Lelouch's thoughts were firmly upon the conversation that had taken place between the two. Closing his phone, he tapped his finger upon the hard plastic cover, his expression contemplative.

He had honestly been expecting this for some time now. Though, just because he was expecting it didn't mean he was exactly welcoming of it. There was just too much baggage involved, but it seemed that the time had come to revisit it.

He had been honest with Kallen as to her being his consort, there was no other person he could see being beside him when the time came. That had not changed.

No, what was the issue was the events that had led up to that moment. A moment he was still not proud of, because of both what it entailed, but also the dark mark upon himself. Put succinctly, as someone who was obsessed with control, he had failed to maintain his control with Kallen. Both in the events leading up to Babel Tower, but also after, and it still wasn't something he was comfortable with, regardless of what he thought.

And now Kallen, it seemed, had at least decided to take matters into her own hands, something he could respect of her. But again, the problem came back to him.

Was he actually ready for it?

Sighing, he pocketed the phone, before glancing at his watch, and then at the woman who was waiting patiently for him.

"Let's do this," he declared to Veronique Delacroix, filing his worries and thoughts away for later. His focus had to be on the here and now, because this moment could make or break his aspirations. It had taken a lot of work and careful coordination to slip out of the Vermillion City for this meeting here in Bechtesgaden, and he would be damned if he fucked this up.

A small smirk on her face the only acknowledgement she gave to his problems, she merely nodded, before opening the door for him. Striding past him, he entered the room and took in the various people who had been awaiting his presence.

"Ladies, Gentlemen," Veronique Delacroix announced, "May I present Field Marshall Lelouch vi Britannia. Field Marshall, may I present the Corsican Order."

Lelouch smiled.

* * *

 **GoS**

* * *

 _Kaminejima_

 _Same Time_

It had taken days to go over all of the data that Caedron had left. A lot of it had been incomplete, while other parts had been conjecture made by a man who simply didn't have a firm grasp upon everything. But what he had known had been enough for her to work with.

So as she stood before the massive door before her, she couldn't help as if she were now becoming part of a much larger game than ever before. A game larger than Lelouch and Kallen, and one that would be for all of the marbles.

At least, it was a feeling.

 _I wish I could help you more, Cera._

The frown on her face was her immediate reaction as amber eyes took in the ornate carving on the door before her, an all too familial sigil adorning it telling her that despite everything, Caedron had come through.

 _You've done more than enough, Caedron_.

 _It'll never be enough, Cera. I will not be satisfied until I know she is safe._

Nodding, as there were no words that could truly honor such sentiment. Even in death, Caedron was still desperately looking out for her contractor. It had surprised her that he had been able to reach out to her from the Collective Unconscious, yet it shouldn't have. After all, Caedron Harrington had always been too stubborn of a bastard to let something trivial like death hold him back.

"Stheno," she called out, turning to Medusa's second-in-command of the second group of Shadows who had run all operations in southern Japan, "Set up camp here. I want to have this place all the way down to the dust motes. We'll go from there once that is done."

"Yes, Lady C.C.," the woman replied, bowing her head slightly, before turning and beginning to back orders to her men and women. Satisfied, C.C. turned back to the door, unable to shake a foreboding feeling and she stared at it.


	3. Interlude: Schneizel

_First off, let me say that the story is not dead. Secondly, I have been writing on this scene off and on for the better part of a year now, only to have issues both crafting the history and story of the Britannian Empire leading up to Charles' ascension. Furthermore, I have been recrafting Schneizel in a way that works within this story, which is difficult because when looking at Schneizel, it's difficult to ascertain exactly what he truly wants outside of what he claims in his actions._

 _Third, the reason I am posting this chapter, which is more of an interlude, is to both excite you guys that I've gotten a breakthrough in the story now despite how shitty the Code Geass movies have been (those of you who are in my discord know of my disdain for what they have done)_

 _Anywho, long story short, here is an interlude that will get the ball rolling I hope to have a chapter done within the next couple weeks despite life and work getting in the way._

* * *

 **Interlude: Schneizel**

As the second most powerful man in the world, it could be said that Schneizel el Britannia had access to any luxury imaginable if he so pleased. It was something that was expected for someone of his status. And yet, it would be surprising to many that Schneizel did not partake in many luxuries. In fact, outside of fine dining, his luxuries were rather simple in their complexity and their cost.

One of which he was currently taking advantage of as he lounged in his bath, rose petals floating around him and filling the air with their luxurious scent adding to his relaxation. A rose-infused bath was something of a guilty pleasure of his, only meant to allow him to escape from his job when it got to be too much.

Which, for a man whose work days could range from a rather routine eight hours to days on end, that 'too much' happened quite often. Especially in recent years as he had assumed increasing control over the Empire as his father had withdrawn from it. He was, in essence, the de facto Emperor of Britannia in that he handled almost all of the day-to-day operations of the Empire, only stepping aside to the actual Emperor when the man decided to make a decree or formally hold court.

Suffice to say, the job was both stressful and exhausting, with this bath being one of the few escapes he had the luxury of. When he was here, only Kanon had access to him, and his majordomo knew perfectly well not to interrupt him.

So it was to his frustration (and just a modicum of fury), when the door his palatial bath suite swung open and Guinevere su Britannia stormed in, Kanon in tow with an apologetic look upon his face.

"Dear sister," he greeted, conveying his displeasure simply through the subtle inflection in the his signature cool tone, "what brings you to my humble abode."

"Please," she sneered, "we both know why I'm here."

A raised eyebrow done in perfect knowledge of what it would do to her was his only response

Impolite, most definitely, but he hadn't gotten to where he was through any sort of morality. Morality was the last thing to have in this position. He had learned very early in his life that

politics, like war, was merely the act of enforcing one's will upon another in order to achieve one's objectives.

Angering Guinevere further, achieved those objectives because she had a tendency of giving away of what she was thinking and likely planning in that anger. Guinevere was simply too dangerous to not take advantage of that flaw in her personality and it had served him quite well over the years.

It actually surprised him when she withheld herself from verbally lashing out, instead glaring at him as if she glared hard enough it would kill him on the spot. When that didn't seem to work, she instead retrieved a small tablet from her person and tossed at him, the waterproofed device landing painfully in his lap with a splash.

However, he didn't react to any of that, not wanting to give his elder sister the satisfaction that she inflicted any sort of pain or discomfort in him. Instead, he grabbed the tablet and activated it, reading through what it was that his dear sister had decided to bother him with.

"This has gotten out of hand," she spoke, her tone a hard edge, as he read through the report, obviously written by one of her people, "and you know goddamn well know it."

He had to give credit where credit was due, whoever had crafted this report for his sister had done a rather good job to make it understandable for her. That wasn't to say that his sister was incompetent, that would be a fatal error, but Guinevere su Britannia was not one who was gifted with an understanding or interest in combat.

Of course, he was fully aware of all that the report highlighted, as it was his job as the Prime Minister of Britannia: The destruction of the Order of St. Michael's III Corps, the bombings in Sankt Petersburg that claimed Michele Manfredi and Raymond du Saint-Gilles, the various resistance groups in Area 18 suddenly becoming more coordinated and effective than they had ever been before, and now the debacle with Areas 3 and 6 on the verge of open rebellion after dozens of their nobility were poisoned.

He was quite aware of who was to blame for all of this. It might seem all random, at least to the less observant, and even then, you had to know what you were looking for. But the fact of the matter remains, that the blame for all of this upheaval could be laid at the feet of his half-brother and his consort.

Oh, of course it was nothing that could hold up in court, they were both too careful for that. But it was how things were unfolding, and how they were strategically timed and placed, that left him with no doubt that they were the ones holding the strings, giving the orders themselves.

Still…

"And what do you like me to do," he asked, placing the tablet on the side of his sunken bath, looking back to her, "I have yet to be provided evidence that any of this can be laid at the feet at the target of your accusations."

"This doesn't _need_ evidence of guilt. You and I both know who is the source of all of this, Schneizel. They are destabilizing the empire and laughing at us while they do it. How much longer until Area 18 goes up in flames like the Ukraine? This has to stop!"

She was right, of course. She hadn't gotten to where she was by not seeing the larger picture. And in any other circumstance, they would have already brought a stop to this treasonous activity. However, there wasn't anything normal about these circumstances

"And what do you suggest that I do, Guinevere. Without actual evidence that they are fomenting this rebellion, my hands are tied. The Emperor has already made it abundantly clear that we are not to intervene in our brother's operations."

"Of course he isn't going to raise a hand against his prodigal bastard! But Father's will doesn't take away from the reality of the situation. Lelouch's actions are invigorating our enemies, Schneizel, and Father does _nothing_! What is it going to take? The Chinese Federation siding with him? The EU? What is it going to take for him to realize that he is supporting a man who will destroy everything Britannia Bello symbolizes!"

 _Oh, you're far too late for that_ , Schneizel mused to himself whilst keeping himself expressionless, lest he give away his amusement. While the official reason for Lelouch's diplomatic mission to the Chinese Federation was for re-establishing diplomatic ties and restoring trade between the Empire and the Federation, Schneizel knew it was far more than simply that.

He had to hand it to Lelouch, what he had done had been a master stroke of diplomacy and strategy. He would have done it differently, of course, but it would have been no less successful in the grand scheme of things. Lelouch's actions in cultivating a relationship with the Tianzi, the nominal head of the Chinese Federation, and then assisting in the removal of the Eunuchs and reestablishing her rule had created a powerful ally for his younger brother. Yes, the Tianzi was indebted to him, additionally so because of the Eunuchs' recent actions, but Lelouch wasn't the type of person to call in that debt unless he had to.

No, he used his natural charisma and ability to connect with others in order to get what he needed.

And perhaps that was what made him truly the most dangerous of Charles zi Britannia's children. Lelouch had this unequivocal ability to not only understand those around him at an instinctual level, but he could then reach across that divide and get those people to not only see his vision, but join with him in that pursuit.

It was what molded a disparate group of failures and losers into one of the most powerful military units in the Empire. It was this very same ability that had won him over the Countess, despite her own aspirations as Zero.

There was no doubt in his mind that their father was fully aware of Lelouch's intentions. Whether his inaction in lieu of this knowledge was some sort of tacit approval via their father's adherence of Social Darwinism or there was something larger at play he was was some sort of tacit approval via their father's adherence of Social Darwinism or there was something larger play he was unsure.

"I will admit that the thought is disconcerting Guinevere," he admitted, choosing to make an attempt at least at assuaging her paranoia (an unlikely prospect). Yes, he had made it clear he would support Lelouch the last time they had met, but that didn't exclude him taking action against Lelouch if he felt that it was not in the best interests of the Empire.

The only issue with that was he was unsure if Lelouch's actions _weren't_ in the best interests of the Empire. He was old enough to vividly recall the Emblem of Blood and the toll it had upon the Empire. It had been an incredibly dark time as assassination and betrayal became the currency of death, claiming thousands of lives before it was brutally ended by Charles zi Britannia.

A least, that was what the history books would tell anyone. But history was written by the victor, and therefore, fallible. It was in the best interest of the Empire that the Emblem of Blood was perceived by the both the rest of the world and the general populace as having ended. To have any perception otherwise would weaken the Empire, both internally and externally, as there would be those who would seek to take advantage the perceived weakness.

So, yes, the Emblem of Blood was over, as long as it was predicated on the belief that if something was not ongoing then it had ceased. However, the truth of the matter was that the Emblem of Blood had never truly _ended_.

To understand why the Emblem of Blood had taken place, one first had to understand and acknowledge the fact that Malcolm Di Britannia had been a _terrible_ Emperor. From the moment of his ascension until his death, the man had only guided the Empire in the continuance of the pursuit of slaking his vices. Of course, it was specifically one vice that would eventually lead to the Emblem of Blood.

Put crudely, the man could not keep it in his pants.

Now, on the surface, this may not have been a terrible situation, _if_ the previous Emperor _had_ established a concrete right of succession. The only problem with that is there existed no right of succession because Malcolm had not _cared._ After his first wife had passed without providing an heir, he hadn't even bothered to remarry. By the end of his reign, it was widely believed he had well over a hundred illegitimate and unrecognized children, as the true number would likely never to be known.

It was because of this lack of acknowledged succession, that the Emblem of Blood had taken place. With many of the illegitimate children born of noble bloodlines, there existed an impetus, as was wont of human nature, to take that which could be taken. It was _this_ , the internecine warfare waged between the various noble families, under the stewardship of an uncaring Emperor, that would characterize the Emblem of Blood.

And yet, instead of learning from the mistakes of the Emblem of Blood, Charles zi Britannia had chosen to repeat them! Of course, not all of the blame could be laid to the feet of his father, the instability and chaotic nature of the Emblem of Blood had created an unwinnable situation through conventional means. None of this was helped by the fact that Charles zi Britannia had been viewed by many as being a risky venture to back thanks to the fact that he was a bastard borne from the liaison between the Emperor and his commoner mistress.

But it was the very chaos and desperation wrought by the Emblem of Blood that provided an opportunity for Charles zi Britannia, albeit through unconventional means. Unlike many of his siblings who were viewed as frontrunners, he did not have the intrinsic support of the many of the upper nobility that populated the Empire. Instead, he tapped into the lower nobility that had become disenfranchised during the Emblem of Blood, finding themselves in the most upheaval outside of the commoners. While Charles was charismatic and intelligent, able to woo several families to his side, it hadn't been enough to make him anything more than a minor player.

He wasn't sure who had come up with the idea initially, though he had a feeling that it was the Hohenzollerns, Guinevere's matrilineal family, that had suggested the idea of multiple wives to Charles, using the tantalizing prospect that any children from the union would be legitimized and immediately in line for the throne, which to a minor noble would be like manna from heaven. It was something he could see considering the Hollenzollern's had been at one point the kings in Prussia until the Age of Revolution, where they had been forced to flee first to Britain and then to Britannia. And while they had been welcomed with open arms by Queen Elizabeth, they found themselves no such welcome once Ricardo von Britannia ascended the throne, finding their power waning over the century until they were a mere shadow of what they had once been. The prospect of being able to regain what they had once had would likely have been something that could not be resisted, using an already existing precedent created by the previous Emperor, and contorting it in a way that benefitted them was something that was continued to this day by Guinevere herself.

Yet, this deal, suddenly catapulted Charles over the obstacle that had previously existed. As minor noble and wealthy families began to flock to him, tantalized with the prospect that their family would officially be part of the Imperial family and have a future chance at the throne if they played their cards right. Overnight, the balance of power had been changed by the manuever, setting the stage for the eventual ascension of Charles zi Britannia to become the 98th Emperor of the Holy Britannia Empire.

Of course, there were some families who could not naturally take advantage of such an opportunity, either through inability to provide a suitable candidate for wife as was the case of the Ashfords, or because the lineage was too close for genetic comfort as with the Kilvey, proxies were accepted, with Marianne Lamperouge for the Ashfords, and Victoria Morgan (from whose union would come Cornelia and Euphemia li Britannia) for the Kilvey. There were others of course, but those were the two most notable considering the offspring.

Of course, all of this was portrayed under the guise of 'Social Darwinism', but the fact remained was that the sheer amount of children borne from Charles zi Britannia's various political liaisons had set the stage for another, likely more vicious, Emblem of Blood. While there would be fewer major players in this iteration of the Emblem of Blood and the bloodshed was more minimal at the moment, the level of animosity that existed between them, the weapons involved, and the lands that Britannia had expanded across, would only magnify it all once it reached a head, as the Emblem of Blood previously had been localized in the North American continent.

Furthermore, of the three 'players' in this game of thrones, he was the weakest of them overall. This wasn't to say that he was actually weak, politically and militarily he harbored the most strength of the three. The issue was that his power came from his position as a successful Prime Minister, he didn't have the ability to reach out and capture the masses like Lelouch, nor was he selfish enough to curry favor with the nobles for his own power base over the interests of the Empire. No, his loyalty was solely to the best interests of the Empire and its people, no more, and certainly no less.

The issue was, unlike Guinevere, who was only interested in expanding her own power and wealth, Lelouch remained almost an enigma to him. Despite the fact that he was the legitimately recognized heir apparent thanks to their father, there remained only mystery and hearsay as to what Lelouch's endgame was for the Empire, something that held him back from truly supporting his brother, despite his words previously to Guinevere during the Chinese Federation's invasion of Japan.

"I'll look further into this, Guinevere," he finally said, making a decision. He had spent too much time trying to keep the Empire together even as it began to crumble around him. The actions of his siblings were only making things worse, and keeping to the status quo was unwise for all parties involved, "I promise nothing, but if Lelouch is guilty as you accuse him off, and I can find evidence of it, then he will dealt with accordingly."

"And what's stop you from brushing this under the rug, Schneizel?"

This time he showed he showed his annoyance with her as he pinned her down with a glare.

"Despite the internecine childishness between the two of you, Guinevere, I serve the realm first and foremost. I only got involved when you decided to deliberately withhold information that could have hurt the Empire because of your rivalry with Lelouch. Do _not_ forget that."

For a moment, their gazes met, violet clashing with violet, before there was a slow bow of the head from his older sister.

"Of course, Schneizel."


	4. Interlude: Kallen

**So, let me start this out by saying that I completely forgot about our Goddess's bday until I was literally reminded last night on the Code Geass Discord. I feel like a fool that I would forget such an important date. Still, at least I could celebrate it by A) Showing I am not dead by posting something for those of you not on either my or the CG Discord and B) Giving you some Kallen goodness.**

 **So, here it is at least, this is about all the work I have been able to get done since October sadly, because work is sadly a psychotic possessive monster that refuses to let its hooks out of me, as I pretty much work every day without fail. Though, I do hope that it will change in the near future, as I have been helping train a cadre of managers who can reduce my workload hopefully.**

 **Anyways, I know you guys don't care for my life story, you only want some Kallen, so here it is at least. Please read the note after this interlude, as there is a further announcement.**

* * *

 **Interlude: Kallen**

It was with a gasp that she shot upright in her bed, cerulean searching the room with a panicked fervor as her ragged breathing filled her ears. It was only after a minute that she finally relaxed just slightly after finding that there were no threats, lowering herself back onto tangled, sweat-soaked sheets, staring at the ceiling, as if searching for a solution to her troubles.

Alas, there were no answers.

Instead, this time she rose back up, swiveling her legs until she could drop her feet to the floor, which she did. Sitting there, she ran her fingers across her neck, even as she shuddered at the image that still refused to return to the ether.

 _He's not here_ , she reminded himself, repeating it like a child trying to convince themself that there was no monster under the bed. And just like for the child, the reassurance brought little relief, because while he may not be in this very room, he was still very much alive.

That was the only rational explanation she could live with, trained on the idea that unless there was a body, then there was a high probability that Marcus Renfield was still alive and plotting to get at her once again.

This, sadly, wasn't any paranoia on her part. Her experience with Renfield had firmly entrenched within her the knowledge of his obsession with her. He could have done anything after escaping Alcatraz Island, instead he had fixated himself on making her suffer further.

No, until she saw his corpse and _confirmed_ it was his corpse, there would be no safety.

Inhaling a deep lungful of air that her body was demanding now that she was calming down, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand before restraining a groan. It was too early in the morning for any of this, but there was no opportunity to receive respite in sleep again, only nightmares awaited her.

It was simply better to get started with the day, even if it was hours before any sensible individual would be awake.

Rising to her feet, she padded softly through the bedroom, before entering the en suite bathroom and divesting herself of her nightwear. Opening the door to the shower stall, she stepped in, turning on the water, and then stepping underneath the spray once it was suitably heated.

She then leaned against the wall, her forehead resting against her forearm as she let the hot spray cascade down her nude form and the steam fill her lungs. Closing her eyes, she just let herself _be_ , losing herself in the shower and just forgetting herself for the moment.

Sadly, she didn't have many opportunities like this. In fact, it seemed like the shower or her bath had become her only sanctuaries from the world. A world that was increasingly becoming a burden with duties that were slowly overwhelming her.

It was sobering to truly realize just how much Caedron had done for her. Or how far he had gone to make things bearable for her, providing that steady rock that she had unknowingly, yet desperately clung onto in all of the chaos that was her life.

But the fact of the matter was that he was gone and there was nothing that could be done to change any of that. With his death, everything had changed whether she had liked it or not, and in many cases, in her overall estimation, for the worse She no longer was able to depend upon him to solve her issues, and she was finding herself playing catch-up in a game that she wasn't properly equipped for. And as much as she wanted to begrudge Caedron for it, she couldn't, because at the end of the day, she knew that they simply hadn't had the time.

She didn't know which was worse, to be perfectly fair: the loss of the Stadtfeld Consortium or the fact that she no longer had the input that she previously had within the Noppera-bo, diminished input that was slowly reducing her to that of a figurehead.

They both hurt, because they were both failures that had largely been _her_ fault because she had been so damn naive in believing that Caedron would always be there for her. She could hide behind that excuse all she wanted, but the fact of the matter was that it still remained her fault that she had been so complacent. She had taken things for granted, when it had been drilled into her head by Caedron that life was unpredictable and nothing _ever_ truly went according to plan.

That wasn't to say that Lelouch hadn't been a welcome relief in providing her at least a partner, what with their mutual goals. However, _he was no Caedron._ Which wasn't fair to him, if she were willing to admit it, as he couldn't hope to fill the shoes of mentor-cum-father-figure that Caedron had been, for obvious reasons. Further complicating things were that the two of them had diametrically different objectives.

And now, with Lelouch returning, she wasn't exactly sure what her place was in all of this. Sure, their relationship was that of partners and more, but she hadn't survived eight years of Britannian nobility and politics to not have an innate understanding that politics were _just that_. And while Lelouch appeared to largely be an exception to the rule, one would have to be a fool to not remember that this was the same person who calmly sacrificed thousands in order to bait the Eunuchs into a trap simply because it was the most efficacious route to eliminate them and draw the Chinese Federation into an alliance.

No, the issue was, that her value in the past few months had diminished. While she was publicly the _de facto_ leader of the Noppera-bo, everything was now being run through committee in order to consolidate and streamline their operations. Oh, she understood the reason for this, it wouldn't do for them to run concurrent operations, or even worse, operations that ran in direct contrast of one another. The issue was that this method _constrained her._

Caedron, by both his nature and training, was at heart a Fabian strategist. He believed completely in indirection and attrition, avoiding direct confrontations until he knowingly had the advantage or was able to strike a critical blow against his enemy. Exasperatingly for him, however, Kallen was neither that patient nor meticulous, preferring rapid and ruthless stratagems that inflicted the most damage as quickly as possible and through the simplest of achievable means, leaving her enemies either reeling or completely destroyed. This was only enhanced by the fact that she preferred to do it all on the run.

 _Like trying to saddle a wildfire_ , he had once intimated while shaking his head as he watched how she handled a wargame simulation with an unpredictable verve that had left him taken aback. The thought now of that proud, yet exasperated, memory only left an indelible ache in her heart.

But now, here she was, a caged bird unable to do anything without it being double-, or even triple-checked and run through all the principles involved. It left her restless, but also frustrated because it felt increasingly like she was being put aside by everyone.

And she had no idea how to recapture the impetus she had before all of this went down.

It was this issue that burgeoned in her mind until the water finally began to grow cold before she recognized the futility of her situation. There honestly just wasn't anything available short of breaking away from the coalition that had been formed between herself and Lelouch, and there was no way that they would survive now that Lelouch had access to the intelligence necessary to destroy the Noppera-bo.

She wanted to curse Caedron for it, but she couldn't. It had likely been his willingness to combine their forces that had saved her at Babel Tower from Renfeld. And she wasn't stupid to realize that if they had continued fighting against Lelouch, even if they had prevailed, it would likely had been a pyrrhic victory that would have left what was left of her forces vulnerable to the ensuing counterattack.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth at that thought, that her actions, no matter what she had done, even with what she had, would have been in the long run an exercise in futility in the face of the man she was now inextricably tied to. For better or worse.

Wrapping herself with a towel, she slowly padded back into her room, her thoughts a match for the darkness that permeated outside. It was too early to do anything, yet, there was no chance of her being able to go to sleep, both from the fact that she feared what she would dream once she did, but also because her bed was soaked with the sweat of her night terror.

 _Not like I would want to go to sleep even if I did not have to worry about my dreams,_ she thought with bitterness as she went over to her dresser and began to get dressed.

Unfortunately, she was unable to get that far, as she had just finished slipping on her bra when her phone went off. Turning, she stalked over and snatched it off the nightstand, glancing at the illuminated screen that showed the contact, she slid it open and placed it up to her ear.

"What is it," she demanded, walking over to the window, looking out as the first glimmers of light began to leak into the night sky, listening to the speaker on the other end of the line.

She then spun around, face contorting into one of barely restrained fury.

"What do you mean they're cutting the program?!"

* * *

 **So, this is something that has both been bothering me, but also has been mentioned several times in passing by readers, but there seems to be a bit of a disconnect between the transition from Ice and Fire (Book 1) and Game of Shadows (Book 2), I have discussed this with some fellow authors, and I have made a decision that this will be the last chapter to be posted in Game of Shadows.**

 **Now, before you all freak out, I want to say that this isn't the end. I am merely reorganizing the story and will be absorbing it back into Ice and Fire once I post the next chapter. Each chapter will be redesignated denoting the different "Books" so continuity still remains, but I feel it would be easier for everyone that this story is concentrated solely into one place, instead of forcing people to have to go into my profile and click on Game of Shadows in order to continue.**

 **Anyways, that is all I have to say. I'm hoping that soon I will be able to have more hours to myself so I can actually write, instead of coming home every day too exhausted to even make the attempt to write.**

 **Have a good day, and Happy Birthday Kallen.**


End file.
